


Break from the Norm

by alxnikki



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Friends to Lovers, Gay Detectives in London Town, I swear to god there will be some happiness and fluff later on, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Suicide Attempt, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 15:24:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10127909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alxnikki/pseuds/alxnikki
Summary: Sherlock seeks an end to his loneliness in a rather self destructive manner; John seeks an end to his loneliness by helping a sad, yet brilliant patient.  Loneliness can make people do strange things.





	1. One

A lanky, dark haired, deathly pale man lay in a hospital bed at Bart’s Hospital. The short sleeved, crisp, white gown revealed his bony, porcelain arms dotted with fresh needle wounds. His left wrist covered in a thin layer of gauze from a more substantial wound. Next to him was a tall, portly man, gently grasping his left hand and watching him sleep. A soft knock got his attention and he looked up to see a short, sandy-haired doctor entering the room. He leaned heavily on a cane and limped over to bed. 

“Hello, I’m Dr. Watson, I’m Mr. Holmes’ attending physician. Are you his next of kin?”

Dr. Watson set his cane aside and reached his hand out to shake. The taller man stood up from the chair and shook his hand. 

“Yes, I’m his brother, Mycroft Holmes. I was told he was hospitalized for an overdose earlier this morning.”

Dr. Watson nodded, “That’s correct. If he wasn’t found when he was, he probably would have died. I also cleaned up a few fresh gashes on his wrist; they appeared to have been self-inflicted. I was unable to determine whether the overdose was intentional or not. I advise that he go to a rehabilitation clinic and/or consult a therapist. I can bring you some information if you’d like.”

Mycroft shook his head. “Thank you Doctor, but I already have some information for him. This isn’t his first time doing this as you probably know from his records.” Dr. Watson nodded at the man’s comment. “He’s not a happy man, so I’m quite sure this was a suicide attempt.”

The doctor cleared his throat. “Yes, I suspected that to be the case, unfortunately. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“When will my brother be released from the hospital?”

“Depends really, there’s a chance that he is still a suicide risk and we try to keep any suicide risk in the hospital where they can be supervised at all times. However, if he is well enough to leave, he is an adult, and we cannot force him to stay if he wants to leave.”

Mycroft walked back over to his brother’s bedside and brushed a few stray curls out of his face and kissed his forehead. He grabbed his umbrella and walked back to Dr. Watson. 

“He doesn’t like being idle, he won’t want to stay for long. I must leave for now. I have an appointment I must make. I’ll return to see him later. Please do give him a bit of company when he wakes up. He gets bored so easily and I don’t want him to damage any property.” He started walking to the door. “Thank you Dr. Watson.”

The doctor walked over to the window and looked outside. It was a beautiful, sunny day, quite rare for London. He threw open the curtains to let natural light into the room and was greeted by a loud groan. Dr. Watson turned around quickly to see his patient sitting up, a thin hand covering his eyes.

“Hello there Mr. Holmes, glad to see that you’re awake, I’m Dr. Watson.”

“Close the damn curtains, it’s way too bright in here.”

“Ah sorry, Mr. Holmes.” He rushed to shut the curtains back up. “How are you feeling?”

“Unusually tired, I was probably sedated. I’m assuming I overdosed because the last thing I remember was injecting a sizeable amount of heroin into my bloodstream and now I’m in a hospital. It would have been nice if my obnoxious brother hadn’t disturbed my sleep because now I’m drowsy.” 

“Quite astute observation, Mr. Holmes, you just answered a lot of my questions. How long have you been awake?”

“Oh I woke up when he kissed me. I need disinfectant for that by the way. I didn’t open my eyes because I didn’t feel like talking to him. I still smell him in this room; he needs to lay off the cologne.”

Dr. Watson chuckled at the last comment. “Yes, it was a bit overbearing, I must admit. Now, Mr. Holmes, I need to run a few tests on you.”

“I assumed you would. Please call me Sherlock, this “Mr. Holmes” thing is really too much.”

“Certainly, Sherlock.” Dr. Watson smiled.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” 

He froze and looked over at the pale man sitting upright, staring right at him.

“Afghanistan, but how did you know?”

“Your hair, posture, and tan.”

“What?” Dr. Watson looked at his puzzled.

“Your hair is kept short and tidy and your posture is impeccable, not even someone obsessed with keeping good posture can match, that says military. Your hands and face are tan, but there is no tan above the wrists. If you were vacationing, you would have an allover tan. Therefore, Afghanistan or Iraq.”

The doctor stood there dumbfounded. “My god, that’s brilliant. You must be a detective or something.”

“Consulting detective, actually, not a bad deduction yourself, doctor.”

He smiled at that comment and walked over to check the other man’s vitals. He glanced upon the dozens of little red dots on his arms. He remembered what the man’s brother said and felt sorry for him. 

“So I’m guessing my brother told you about my problem.” That interrupted his thoughts and he looked up at the man. His face was void of emotions.

“Yes, also, I read your medical records. Terrible shame, really, you seem like a really smart bloke. You must have a pretty decent detective job, too.”

“Life is so dull, I don’t have much going for me.”

The doctor frowned. “Sorry to hear. I need to fill out some paperwork. I’ll return in a couple of minutes.” He headed for the door.

“Dr. Watson?”

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“Your limp is psychosomatic; you don’t really need that cane.”

He stared right at the man. “What?”

“You have been standing the whole time you have been tending to me. There are three chairs and a stool with wheels that you could have sat on, but you chose not to. If your leg was truly in pain, you would have taken a seat. You forget about it when you’re focused on something. When your mind is free of serious thought, your leg bothers you and the limp returns.” After that, a huge grin came to his face. The doctor was standing in the doorway, mouth agape, shocked by what he just heard. “I know I surprised you with my deduction. You go on and do your job, I’ll see you later.”

Dr. Watson didn’t know how to properly react and he left the room. He couldn’t believe that guy knew all of that. People stared as he muttered to himself in the hallway. He stopped at a computer to enter information into the man’s chart. The entire time he was typing, he was thinking about what a bloody genius that man was. He was blunt, too. He probably didn’t have many friends because of that. He suddenly remembered what that man’s brother had said about needing company. He hurried back to the room, knocking before entering once again. 

“Come.”

Dr. Watson stepped in and took a seat by the Sherlock’s bedside. He was intrigued by this peculiar man. Most of his patients were so ordinary, and rather rude, but Sherlock was different. Sherlock was fascinating. 

“So, Sherlock, any other things you can observe about me?” John asked as Sherlock clasped his hands together, fingertips resting just under his chin, as if he were praying, and closed his eyes. A few seconds later, he opened one eye and peered at the doctor.

“You’re a lonely man, Dr. Watson.” 

John was taken aback by that statement and cleared his throat. “What makes you say that?” Sherlock sat straight up and looked John in the eyes.

“That old cliché, “It takes one to know one,” comes to mind. I am a lonely man, myself, and I see a lot of myself in you.” Dr. Watson looked down and didn’t say a word. Sherlock was right, though, he was lonely.

“I see something else in you, though.” Again, he was taken by surprise and looked up at the detective.

“What?”

“A companion.”

“What makes you say that, Sherlock?”

“You are the first one to call my deductions ‘Brilliant.’” 

Dr. Watson smiled. “Well, they are brilliant, Sherlock. You’d have to be a fool not to think so.” 

“There are a lot of foolish people in this world.” Sherlock grinned, and John chuckled and held out his hand.

“Call me John, and if you would like a companion, I’ll be yours. Honestly, friends are few since I’ve been away so long. It would be nice to find someone to talk to.” Sherlock shook his hand. 

“Alright John, come to 221 B Baker Street after I’ve checked out of here. I’ll be there whether my brother likes it or not.” Sherlock smiled briefly and laid back a bit. “I’m about to start withdrawals, this is not going to be pleasant, as I’m sure you know, so I’d recommend you check back with me later.” John frowned, got up, and walked to the end of the bed.

“How long has it been since you’ve been clean?” 

“Forty-seven days.” 

“I’ll check in hourly,” he headed for the door, “press the call button if you need me.”

John found himself thinking about Sherlock the entire time he was doing his rounds. He had no idea why he had agreed to be this guy’s friend or go to his flat, but it sounded a lot better than what he had been doing most nights. Sherlock had been right, he was a lonely man. He wanted nothing more than to have someone to spend time with that didn’t pity him for being a crippled war veteran. A real friend sounded like a nice break from the norm. 

Once an hour had passed, he made his way back to Sherlock’s room. He slipped in quietly, he wasn’t sure if Sherlock was asleep or not, and he didn’t want to bother him. What Sherlock said earlier was true, withdrawals are not pleasant, and quite frankly, he hated dealing with them and druggies, but Sherlock was different. He was so very different. 

Sherlock had curled himself up into a ball under the thin sheet, faced the windows, and was shaking. John approached the bed, taking in the sight of the man before him. He looked so small and so fragile. He circled the bed to face Sherlock, he appeared to be sleeping. Gently, he pulled back the sheet to feel his skin. Icy, no wonder he was shaking. John grabbed the phone from the table beside the bed and dialed the nurse’s desk.

“Yes this is Dr. Watson in room 2112, I need a warm blanket immediately. Thanks.” He placed the phone on the receiver and turned his attention back to Sherlock, who was now staring right at him.

“Thanks for that, John.” John smiled and cleared his throat. 

“Ah, so you are awake. How are you feeling?”

“Cold.” John chuckled at that.

“Well, that much I figured. Any pain? Nausea? Diarrhea?” 

Sherlock suppressed a laugh. “That’s such a lovely string of questions. I am in a moderate amount of pain, but it’s manageable. None of that, really just fatigued and cold.” 

John nodded and thought about giving Sherlock a distraction. “How about another deduction?” 

Sherlock was taken by surprise, but happily obliged. “You get bored easily, but you seldom admit it.” 

“Your brother said that about you earlier.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Mentioning my brother will cause nausea, this isn’t about me, this is my deduction of you. Simply asking for another deduction is proof enough, you have other patients, but you’re here, talking to me. You could have just left after calling for a blanket, but you hung around. They are likely very dull cases anyways. One of your patients is elderly, by the way, nursing homes have a very distinct odor, tends to linger. I am entertaining you, I make smart remarks and tell you things you already know about yourself, but are intrigued to hear from another person. You said you had few friends, so you likely spend a lot of time at your flat alone. The telly gets dull after a while, so why not hang out with the suicidal, druggie detective from the hospital.” 

“That’s fantastic.” John couldn’t stop grinning. 

“Thanks.”

“I do have to bring up your brother, though, I have a deduction of my own.” Sherlock stared at John. 

“Oh god, if you insist.”

“Your brother has a date and he’s probably not going to come back to visit you tonight.” Sherlock made a gagging sound.

“Oh please, spare me the details of this. The last thing I need to think about is he and that MI6 woman again.” John looked up, surprised by Sherlock’s comment. 

“MI6?!”

“Oh, forgot to mention, my brother is the government, he’s messing around with the woman who runs MI6.” 

John laughed heartily. “So, your brother’s hooking up with M?” Sherlock looked puzzled at John’s comment. 

“M?”

“You know, James Bond. M.” Sherlock stared blankly at him. John couldn’t help but laugh. “You don’t know James Bond?”

“No… should I?”

“He’s one of the most quintessential British fictional characters of all time. He’s an MI6 agent, codename 007. There’s loads of movies, and books. The series has been around since the fifties.” Sherlock gave him a weird look.

“Anyway. My brother is annoying, but his position can come in handy sometimes. My landlady got busted by a speed camera, and he was able to pull up the speed camera and delete all of the footage.” John’s eyes grew wide.

“He has that level of access? Seriously?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Your older brother basically runs the bloody government, Jesus, I better keep a close eye on you, I don’t need to make him cross.” John chuckled.

“You’re right, he does have a date. He cancels all of his meetings when I’m in hospital, except when it’s with this woman. He also had an obnoxious amount of cologne on, Clive Christian No. 1to be exact, it’s the most expensive cologne in the world. He’s being wasteful and overdoing it, ironic considering it’s meant to be an understated cologne. I’m sure he forgot to have his coat laundered this week so he spritzed his coat as well. Silly of him, really, but my brother is a strange creature. I can still smell her perfume on his coat, though. Claire De La Lune is a bit young for her, my brother prefers mature women, but to each their own, I suppose. Honestly, I cannot go on anymore, I am now nauseous.” 

A knock at the door interrupted John before he could begin. A nurse’s aide entered carrying a thicker blanket. 

“Hello doctor, Mr. Holmes, I have this for you.” John took the blanket from her.

“Thank you, that will be all.” She nodded and left the room. John unfolded the blanket and covered Sherlock with it. Sherlock adjusted the blanket to his liking, and John pulled up a chair and sat down by him. 

“That better, Sherlock?” Sherlock nodded and closed his eyes. 

“Good deduction.” John glanced at the detective as he spoke. “Was it the cologne that told you that?”

“That and he said he had an appointment.” John said and Sherlock nodded once more. 

“Not bad at all.” John beamed with pride. Sherlock looked up at him. “If you don’t mind, you could assist me with some of my cases.”

“Assist you?”

“Yes, I need a second set of eyes.”

“You are a detective by profession, and clearly, by nature, how can you need a second set of eyes?”

Sherlock frowned at that remark.

“You’re a doctor, an army doctor in fact, you’re used to seeing traumatic injuries, so crime scenes wouldn’t bother you. I talk a lot, out loud, and usually to myself, it tends to make the others around me uncomfortable. It would be rather nice to have someone to talk to.” A look of regret passed over him, briefly. John noticed this and gave his shoulder a pat.

“That sounds really fun, I’m just surprised, is all. I do have a busy schedule at the hospital, but when I’m not working, I can definitely give you a hand.” He smiled at Sherlock. Sherlock closed his eyes once more and smiled back.

“Thank you, John.” 

John rose from his seat and excused himself from the room. He could tell that Sherlock was wanting to go back to sleep. 

\-----

Over the next couple of days, John would visit Sherlock’s room and play deduction games with him while he detoxed. He could tell that asking Sherlock to make deductions was keeping his spirits up, even when his brother came to visit. Sherlock was doing very well and was to be released today, not to his brother’s care, he insisted his landlady was going to care for him until he was completely recovered. John remembered what Sherlock had mentioned about her driving and wondered what car she drove. He made a point of stopping by Sherlock’s room just before he was going to leave. Sherlock was out of bed, fully dressed in an expensive suit, and putting a few toiletries that his brother dropped off in a small duffel bag. 

“Hi Sherlock. Glad to see you’re doing better.” John walked over to the detective and Sherlock turned to face him.

“I wouldn’t necessarily say “better” because I have an intense craving for heroin, but it is nice to be leaving the hospital.” Sherlock turned back around and zipped the duffel bag. 

Frowning, John walked around so that he was facing Sherlock. “Listen, if you want me to stop by your flat, I can do so tomorrow, I won’t be working.”

Sherlock strode over to the table beside the hospital bed, took the notepad off of it, and scribbled a note on it. “Here’s my mobile number. I’m not sure how late you will be in this hellhole, but you are more than welcome to stop by tonight. I’ll order takeaway.”

John smiled, “Yeah I’ll be out of here in the evening, I’ll stop by.”

“Thank you, John, honestly, I mean it.” Sherlock held out his hand to shake John’s. John eagerly shook his hand.

“No need, you are the best patient I’ve had here.” 

Sherlock smiled as he headed for the door. “I’ll see you tonight, text me what you want from the takeaway before you head over.”

“Will do.” 

John couldn’t wait until he was off work.


	2. Chapter 2

John got off work a little later than expected that night, but he did not forget about Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock had asked him to text with his takeaway order before he arrived at the flat, but he was running late. Had Sherlock already eaten? Before hopping on the tube, he sent Sherlock a quick text.

It’s John, still up for takeaway?

Moments later, the train arrived. John boarded and quickly found a seat, his cane prompted someone to stand up and offer a seat. His leg was not really bothering him, but he did not want to snub the polite gesture. As he sat down, his phone pinged with a response from Sherlock.

Yes, what would you like? I’m ordering Chinese, they deliver. SH

It had been ages since he had gotten Chinese takeaway, but he knew a lot of takeaway places had similar menus with the same dishes.

Kung Po Chicken if they have it, if not Curry Chicken. 

Just seconds later, another ping.

I ordered both. SH

John smiled down at his phone. He did not really have any friends to spend time with since returning to London. There was his old mate, Mike who worked at Bart’s as a teacher, so they would see each other a lot, but that was it. It was so refreshing to have something else to do after work, someone else to see besides his colleagues, Mike, and his therapist. The tube announcement pulled him from his thoughts. 

“This is Baker Street. Change for the Bakerloo, Jubilee, and Metropolitan lines.”

He got up from his seat and exited the train. With his mind distracted on the thrill of spending time with the strange detective, he was not troubled with the sharp leg pains he was used to dealing with since returning to London. He even had a spring in his step tonight. 

221 B was just a short walk from the Baker Street tube station. He noticed a vivid red awning for a sandwich shop next door. Must be nice to have that just outside the front door. His attention switched to the black door of 221B which strongly contrasted the red awning of the shop next door. There were large, brass numbers and a knocker on the door; the knocker was slightly askew. He grabbed the crooked knocker and rapped hard on the door. Moments later, an older woman he did not know answered.

"May I help you?"

"Hi, I'm here to see Sherlock Holmes. I have the right address, don't I?"

Her face lit up at the mention of Sherlock. "Oh! You're the doctor fellow! He's been talking about you. Come in, come in." She stepped aside to let John in. 

"I'm sorry, you are?"

"Mrs. Hudson, I'm the landlady."

"Ah, yes of course." He said as he walked inside. "Which flat is Sherlock's?"

Mrs. Hudson pointed up, "His is the only upstairs flat. Go on up." 

"Ta." He went on up and noticed Sherlock's flat doors were all open. Before he could knock, Sherlock called to him.

"John, come in."

He peered in and slowly made his way into the flat, surveying the decor as he entered. The flat was a huge mess, papers strewn about everywhere, books piled high in stacks on the floor, and clothing thrown carelessly on the couch. The decor was nice, though, with its damask wallpaper and warm toned, mismatched furniture, it felt quite homey. The fireplace was lit and Sherlock was seated in a plush leather chair beside it, cocooned in blankets. 

"Hey Sherlock, how are you feeling?"

“Cold.”

John walked over to Sherlock and knelt in front of the chair. “Any other symptoms?” He felt Sherlock's forehead for a temperature and looked at his eyes. “Your eyes look watery, how long has that been going on?”

Sherlock rubbed at his eyes, hands shaky, “Couple of hours. My hands have been shaking, mind racing, and I'm tired, but I cannot fall asleep.”

John nodded, “Typical symptoms, unfortunately.”

Sherlock gestured towards the red armchair opposite his. “Please sit.”

John smiled and used the cane to stand up and flop into the chair. “This is nice,” he waved his hand around, “Very nice flat, just a bit untidy.”

Sherlock chuckled. “I'm a drug addict, how clean do you expect my flat to be?”

John shot him a disapproving look.

“Okay, recovering drug addict. Is that better?”

“Much. Thank you.” 

Sherlock lifted a layer of blankets to reveal his mobile. He peered at the screen briefly. “John, the food is here, can you go down and grab it?”

“Of course.” John rose and rushed downstairs, neglecting his cane by the chair. Moments later, he came back up, a large bag of food in each hand. He looked around, trying to find a table to set up for dinner. “Where do you want these?” 

Sherlock pointed in the direction of the kitchen. “I apologize for the mess, but there's a table in there. Do be careful with my equipment.” 

John went into the kitchen and set the bags on the floor. On the table was a microscope, dozens of slides, and papers strewn about. He delicately moved everything from the table onto the kitchen counter. 

“Hey Sherlock, where do you keep plates?”

“Above the toaster.”

John reached in the cupboard and grabbed some plates, setting the table for them. He dug in the takeaway bags and divvied up the food. The smell was wonderful. 

“Dinner’s ready.”

Sherlock hobbled into the kitchen, still wrapped in a fluffy blanket. 

“Thank you for putting this together, John.”

“Of course, no trouble at all.”

“I hope you like the food, this is my usual takeaway spot.”

John smiled and started on his Kung Po Chicken.

“It is delicious, thank you for buying my dinner. Next dinner is on me.” 

“If you insist, John.” Sherlock chuckled and took small bites of his food. 

John quickly devoured his portions of the food, but Sherlock only picked at his portions. Sherlock's hands were shaking more and he had trouble keeping the food on his fork. John watched him, frowning. 

“Hey, do you need some help?” Sherlock looked away, embarrassed by his withdrawal symptoms.

“I'm not really that hungry anyway. Can you put my food away? Be careful in the fridge, I have experiments in there.”

John nodded and collected Sherlock's food, sealing all of the containers and putting them all in the bag they came in. Nervously, he opened the fridge, not knowing what to experiments to expect. The fridge was just as messy as his flat. John carefully moved containers around in the fridge, attempting to make the bottom shelf orderly, and placed the bag inside. He turned to Sherlock and laughed.

“You weren't kidding when you said ‘be careful,’ Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled briefly. “I like to keep busy. I post all of my reports on my website.”

“You have your own website?” John sat down across from Sherlock again. 

“Yes. ‘The Science of Deduction.’ Not many people have read it. Most people would find it boring because they are idiots.”

John smiled. “I'd like to read it.”

Sherlock looked up and smiled at John. “Would you like to see it? My laptop is by my chair, if you can get it for me, I'll pull up the website and show you my latest experiment.”

John said nothing and retrieved the laptop for him. He set it on the table in front of Sherlock and sat back down. Sherlock slowly opened the computer, not wanting to damage it because his hands were unstable. The website was already up when the computer came on. He turned the laptop towards John.

“I recently did a study of tobacco ash. It's rather long, but I really enjoyed studying it. I find that it may be useful to the police someday.”

It took a while, but John read through the entire tobacco ash study. He looked up from the laptop and saw Sherlock reading something on his phone. 

“Sherlock that was extraordinary." 

Sherlock looked up at him, surprised at John's response. “Really?”

“Yeah. You did all of that work by yourself and put it online. That's amazing!” 

Sherlock grinned. “If you liked that, perhaps I can tell you about some of the cases I've assisted with.”

John beamed at Sherlock. “Yes! I'd love to hear some. Why don't we go back to the chairs by the fireplace? It will be more comfortable for you.” 

Sherlock hummed in agreement and collected his blanket bundle and slowly walked over to his chair, curling up in a ball and cocooning himself in more blankets. 

“There was a triple homicide, a young child and both her parents. It was not as grizzly as it sounds, they were each shot once and likely all died instantaneously from their wounds. However, the police were stumped about who could have committed the crime. Detective Inspector Lestrade, who I work with the most, interviewed the family and the few friends that they had and each story was more wild than the other. The male victim had contacted the police because he was afraid his father would kill him, yet the father was in a nursing home on the brink of death. He passed away before I could speak with him. One of their friends stated that they were paranoid lately and believed their flat was haunted. Another friend said she thought they started using hallucinogenic drugs. The mother of the female victim said they were having financial issues and there was no way they were using drugs or that their flat was haunted. The flat was searched and there were no signs of drug usage or ghosts, obviously, but I found a lot of religious pamphlets. These pamphlets seemed to come from the same place. I asked if anyone was aware of their religious affiliation and where they attended services, and only the female victim's mother knew about this. They had recently started going to a church after chatting to a woman who handed out the pamphlets. Apparently the woman was really kind and welcoming, but after a few months of attending services, they realized that the church was a cult and the charismatic woman was chosen to talk to strangers and lure them in. The family was having problems leaving the cult and considered moving away to distance themselves from it. The only reason the victim's mother knew about this was because one of the cult’s leaders called her and made a threat. I knew that it was obviously the cult who orchestrated the crime, whether they did it themselves or hired a hitman, so I gave this information to Lestrade who ordered a raid. When the first officer entered the building, he heard them talking about the victims and how easy it was to take care of them. They were all promptly arrested, and when threatened with being charged with accessory to murder, almost everyone sang like canaries. The leader of the cult planned the homicide and his two assistants were stalking the victims and told the leader when to strike.”

John was in awe. “You saw simple religious pamphlets and knew that that was the avenue you had to follow to find out more?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. How long had the police been working the case before they consulted you?”

“Three weeks. They assumed that it would be simple because the same gun was used and they had a small family and friend group, but no evidence was left at the scene and the conflicting theories left them confused.”

“How long did it take you to solve the case?”

“One day. I spoke with everyone after going through the flat and Lestrade’s case files.”

“That's incredible. I'd love to hear more!”

Sherlock blushed and looked away from John. John frowned when he saw Sherlock turn away from him. 

“What's wrong, Sherlock?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Nothing is wrong. I've never had anyone show interest in my website or my casework before. It's nice. Thank you, John.”

John smiled and reached forward to put a hand on Sherlock. “I thought they were fascinating. You're fascinating. Everyone else is an idiot.”

Sherlock smiled genuinely and turned an even darker shade of red. John gave Sherlock's leg a squeeze. 

“You're the most interesting person I've ever met, Sherlock. Thanks for inviting me over.”

“I'm just glad to have intelligent company.” Sherlock smiled wider and looked over at the couch. “I'd like to move to the couch, if you care to join me, I'll tell you about another case.”

John stood up and held his hand out for Sherlock.

“I'm chuffed to hear another case. I haven't had this much excitement in a long time.”

Sherlock took John's hand and got up from his chair. He collected all of his blankets and carried them over to the couch. John grabbed a couple of them and laid them on the couch for Sherlock so the cool leather would be covered. Sherlock bundled up in the remaining blankets and sat close to John. John looked at Sherlock in anticipation of the next case story. 

“John, one of my best cases happened outside of London, near Sussex, where I grew up. In a small village, a man was murdered in front of a dozen people, yet no one would say who committed the crime. Everyone refused to speak to the police, they all requested a solicitor, and I was called in to assist. I had to do a bit of undercover work for this one so the villagers would talk to me, so I pretended to be a reporter for a university newspaper. The villagers began telling me about the victim and how awful he was. The victim had assaulted an elderly grocer the week prior to his murder. The victim had also started a “relationship" with an underage girl and she fell pregnant. Her family called the police, and the victim tried to burn their house down. The villagers called him a bully and a menace. I heard countless stories of the victim stalking, assaulting, and threatening his fellow villagers. He also had targeted underage teenage girls for “relationships.” Finally, I spoke with the pregnant girl's father, and he said he witnessed the murder and that the victim had started a fight with him and broke his nose. I talked to the police after doing all of my interviews and they told me that he was shot once with a hunting rifle. I remembered seeing a hunting rifle at the home of the pregnant girl. Of course, I knew what had happened, but the victim had it coming, so I told the police that I was only told awful stories about the victim and no one would speak of the murder. I refused to send that man to prison for doing that village a huge favor.”

John gave Sherlock a kind smile. “That was really nice of you. You did the right thing.”

Sherlock smiled back. “The victim was despicable, he deserved much worse. That's why I like this case. It challenges the moral principles against vigilante justice. Also, I was able to use a disguise which I enjoy doing.”

John chuckled at that last comment. “You like wearing disguises?”

Sherlock nodded. “I've been told that I should have pursued acting, but I much prefer detective work.”

“If you ever have another case with a disguise, I want in.”

Sherlock turned to him curiously. “I could use an assistant.”

John grinned. “Can I? It sounds so exciting. I miss having excitement in my life. I spent so many years in the army, at war, I saw some of the worst things imaginable, yet I truly miss it. There was never a dull day.”

Sherlock chuckled heartily. “Adrenaline junkie.”

“Better it be adrenaline than it be narcotics.”

“Touché.”

John put his hand over Sherlock's hand. “Speaking of which, how are you feeling?”

Sherlock looked down at their hands. “Better. I'm not as shaky, my eyes aren't watering anymore, but I am still cold.”

John smiled and gave his hand a squeeze. “Good. I'm glad. Y’know, the circumstances of us meeting wasn't pleasant, but I'm really happy that I met you. I haven't really had anyone to talk to since I left the army.”

Sherlock squeezed John's hand back, still looking at their hands. “Stay with me tonight.” He looked right in John's eyes. “Please.”

John laced their fingers together. “I don't have a hospital shift tomorrow, I'll stay.”

Sherlock leaned his head on John's shoulder and sighed. “Thank you, John.”

“Of course, Sherlock. I'm not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit guys I am so slow, thank you for being patient. Please enjoy this chapter, I do not have a beta, but I did have a friend read through it for funsies first. If I make any mistakes, I apologize. The cases Sherlock talks about are based on real crimes, if you watch Buzzfeed Unsolved, you will recognize them. ;)   
> I will be at 221B Con next week, if you are going, let me know and I'll come find you!!!  
> Thanks again for reading, not sure when the next update will be, but I am working on a coffee shop au (my life is a coffee shop au tbh), so be on the lookout for that. It will be posted soonish.


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